Don't Ask My Neighbor Read online

  “I didn’t quite make the sir part. I still work for a living,” he exclaimed.

  His voice had a familiarity to it, always sounding as if anything he said was important. He sported a similar stature, but still I wasn’t exactly sure it was him. I tried to see his face without being obvious, but from where I stood, behind a woman almost a full foot taller than I was, I could only focus on the fade in the back of his head.

  "Excuse me?" the small-face, young-looking female behind the register questioned. Her face was immediately filled with disgust, and it was evident it pained her that she still had to provide exceptional service to his rude ass.

  “Will this be all for you, sir?” she asked with a patented attitude in her voice. She paid more attention to her timepiece than to the items she scanned, and I guessed it was probably getting close to the end of her shift. Her hair was a slick black, with highlights the color of her almond complexion. Her brown eyes stared through black-rimmed glasses. Her round-shaped, black earrings hung from her ears, purposely matching her solid-black fitted sweater.

  I stood in line, trying to wrap my mind around the stranger's statement, the same man the woman ahead of me politely allowed to skip ahead of her as I stood in line pondering my purchase of this newly released novel. I hoped my quick-stop shopping in this Barnes and Nobles was going to be the beginning of the end of my weird work day, and this stranger was trying to rub me the wrong way and everyone else the wrong way. When he turned, he looked in my direction and smiled. I returned the gesture, realizing who this gentleman was.

  After I left the counter and exited the store, I heard my name being called from my right. He leaned against the building with his hands folded against his chest.

  “How’s he doing?” Nigel dropped his left foot to the ground and slowly approached me.

  I decided to meet him halfway. I rarely saw Nigel since his split with Parker, which meant I didn’t see my godson as frequently as I used to. I didn’t make as big a deal about it as Parks did, but of course, I completely understood why he did. He was a handsome dark-skinned man, with a hint of a five-o’clock shadow. His mustache was cut thin across his top lip, and the hair that extended from the sides of his mouth and under his chin was barely visible. His eyes had a trace of gray, and they danced when they looked at you. No wonder Parker had fallen for him.

  “How do you think he’s doing?”

  “Look! I don’t know what he’s been telling you, but…”

  “He hasn’t been telling me anything, except that you won’t let him see Keaton. You can’t keep punishing him for what he did.”

  “I’m not punishing him.”

  “That’s what you say, but it feels like punishment to him. This probably isn’t my place, but maybe if you’d found yourself with a halfway decent man, Parker wouldn’t have had to prove to you he was full of shit.”

  “You’re right, Kennalyn. It’s not your place. Nor was it Park’s place to prove any unfaithfulness he thought existed in my relationship.”

  I guess he told me. I accepted that as the end of our conversation, so I bid him a good night and started on my way.

  “Did he tell you about Kirk?” he spoke a few strides into my leaving.

  I stopped, not knowing if I should even hear him out. What was Parker supposed to tell me about him? If it were something he thought I needed to know, he would have divulged at the drop of a dime. Then again, Parker tells me what he wants me to know, when he wants me to know it.

  “I’ll take your silence as your ‘no’. You see, I got past the hurt I felt when I received the picture message from Parker. I knew his heart was in the right place. Yes, it did hurt me, but I knew that wasn’t his intention. I felt bad because I knew Parker would never have put himself in that situation, and I left him for someone who did.”

  “Then why don’t you tell him that?”

  “Because he’s no different from Courtney. He was quick to bring Courtney’s infidelity to my attention, but till this day, he hasn’t told me about his own.”

  “What do you mean, his own? Did something happen between Parker and Kirk?”

  “You know him?”

  I hesitated giving Kirk’s last name for confirmation, but, truthfully, he was the only Kirk that Parker or I knew.

  “I don’t,” I lied, “That’s the only other name you’ve mentioned tonight.” I paused briefly before continuing. “I don’t understand. If Parker never told you about Kirk, who did?”

  “She told me everything except her name.”

  “And you believed her?”

  “Why not? I don’t think there’s a woman out there who cared that much about my relationship to lie about something like that. An ex-partner’s office romance is too simple to make up.”

  That explained the deep hatred Parker had for Samantha, and even the tension that existed between him and Kirk whenever they were near each other. He dealt with Samantha, the woman who retold the role he played in getting Ryle to walk away from his position in the firm, and there was Kirk, a reminder of his own personal betrayal.

  “Maybe Parker didn’t tell you because it meant nothing to him. And you were already on your way out of the relationship, so what did it matter?”

  “Yeah, sure I was,” Nigel confirmed, unable to look directly at me.

  “Look, Nigel. I never learned how to stay out of grown folks business, but what you do about your relationship with Parker is none of my business. Whatever you do, or don’t do, don’t keep him away from Keaton. He means everything to him. And whether or not you want to accept it, so do you.”

  Nigel looked at me with his eyes wide opened but said nothing. I watched him walk silently to his car, and I wondered what he was feeling. It was clear Parker wasn’t the only one hurting, but Nigel did a good job hiding his own pain; at least he thought he did. I guess all men had a way of letting pride get in the way.

  I hated nights like these. I hated the idea that the lonely summer nights had made way to even lonelier winter, even though I could have had it another way, if I wasn’t so devoted to Samantha’s downfall. Instead of snuggling beside a man in my pink Victoria Secret bra and matching panties that I wore under my black silk-trimmed jersey halter dress, I was, instead, settled in men's boxers and a white V-neck t-shirt, ready to enjoy An Innocent Client. Cody and Alexis ate and were in bed earlier than usual. They were already asleep when I last checked on them. I guess they were finally worn out from a week of games and practice, and that warm cup of milk didn’t hurt, either.

  I lay in bed after a warm bath, with my book resting on the pillow, and my head in the palm of my right hand. A light drizzle had begun outside again, and the temperature had tumbled back into the thirties exactly where it started earlier that morning. Under my down comforter, I made it through the first chapter, but soon found it hard to concentrate. My conversation with Nigel fought for my attention, and needless to say, it won. As I prepared dinner, I picked up the phone a few times to call Parker, but every time I held the phone in my hand ready to dial, I changed my mind. I wanted to hear about his involvement with Kirk Taplin. All these years he kept it from me, and I wanted to know why. I was positive the “she” who contacted Nigel was Samantha, but why would she tell Parker’s secret unless he threatened to expose her. I’m not saying I condoned what he did, but how could he have been so careless? He gave Samantha the one thing you had to be careful not to, if he expected to beat her at her own game. He gave her ammunition and the upper hand.

  I closed the book, placed it on the floor next to the bed, and then looked at the time on the cellphone before turning off the TV, which had been on mute while I read. Midnight was approaching, and I needed to be asleep since I had mommy duties in the morning before making my way to work.

  Twenty-One

  ____________

  With This Ring

  Samantha

  PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA WASN’T THE ONLY one celebrating on Tuesday night, election night in America. I started my own celebrati
on as soon as Jelani was on his knee in my living room, one minute into President Obama’s acceptance speech for his second term victory. I wanted to scream out loud, but I placed my hand over my mouth and kept my reaction muffled. I laughed uncontrollably, looking down into Jelani’s tear-filled face.

  He slid the five-row Tiffany diamond ring on my finger, “I can’t believe I’m doing this again, but this time, I know I’m right.”

  Hell, I couldn’t believe he was proposing again, either. I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him he was making a mistake, or that he should reconsider asking me anything that had the words “marry” and “me” right beside each other. No, the only words he heard were “yes”, “yes”, “yes”, and I kissed his lips and the sides of his face after each response. I danced as if someone lit fire at my feet, and finally, I screamed. Jelani kept his hands at my waist. He dropped his head in my belly, just above my belly button, and then he looked up at me and smiled. I extended my arm, flexed my hand, and stared at the diamond-filled ring on my finger.

  Tuesday night gave way to a Wednesday morning Jelani won’t soon forget, and I could now look forward to a lifetime of giving him reasons not to. While CNN replayed snippets of another arousing victory speech—reminiscent of his speech from four years earlier—I reran Jelani’s proposal in my mind, and then punctuated my response with love, sex, and a little bit of my own magic. Both of us would be going to work with a smile on our faces; Jelani, because I had just put it down, and me, because I couldn’t wait to rub those diamonds in Felicia’s face. Earlier, she asked me how I did it, and I was ready to put my hand in my panties, and then put my finger close to her nose, giving her the answers she sought. I wanted to run into Kennalyn, too. For whatever reason, our paths had not crossed since my return to the city, and it’s not even a big city. I wanted her to see that, yes, I had moved on from Gage, the man she claimed to be her husband, to my own man. I did run into Gage on two separate occasions, but my attempts to find out anything about her, or even him, fell on deaf ears. Poor souls, the unbreakable union they thought couldn’t be broken was wrecked without much effort.

  Wednesday was a blur. I sat in my office spinning around in my chair and staring at my finger, thinking I’d conquered all. I guess things are best when not expected, and Jelani popping the question came at a point when I least expected it. I held off announcing my moment to Felicia for an entire day, out of respect for President Obama—he deserved a day to be the most talked about in the office—but when I went in on Thursday, I was prepared to properly introduce my ring to Felicia and all the other hens in the henhouse.

  Felicia sat behind the large desk, faking a smile as I walked through the door. She’d gotten so good at that, but I matched her imitated pleasantry for imitated pleasantry. Emanuel, Sullivan and Graybourne, the firm’s name, written in bold, gold letters against the mahogany wall, illuminated under the fluorescents. A pot of lucky bamboo plant sat on her desk to the right, but my guess is they hadn’t brought her much luck since she bought them. Felicia attempted to give her attention down either of the halls that extended behind her to her right and her left, but my good-morning glow and smile kept her attention in my direction. As I approached, she directed her look to the small silver keyboard and began to type frantically. It’s obvious my presence made her nervy, and, for the life of me, I hadn’t been able to figure out why, not that I had given it too much of my attention. I was too busy giving my attention to Jelani. My exchange with her the previous Friday had a fleeting invasion of my mind space, but I hadn’t wasted precious time trying to pinpoint a purpose behind her budding disdain.

  “Ms. Hailey,” I saluted, switching the chocolate brown briefcase to my right hand. I kept the rose-purple handbag draped over my left shoulder.

  “Samantha,” she countered, keeping her focus on her keyboard.

  Her one-word response was so unbecoming, but I started to expect nothing more from her.

  Whatever she typed couldn’t have been that important, but for the moment, it served as a needed distraction from my obvious effort to engage her.

  “So, how was your night?” I inquired.

  Her fingers stopped their dance across the keyboard. She sighed before looking up at me, leaned forward, and rested her hands on top of the large, flat screen computer. She swallowed before she spoke.

  “Cut the bullshit, Samantha,” she whispered. “You and I both know you are not interested in what I did or didn’t do with my night. So what the hell do you want?”

  She sat back in her chair and resumed her typing.

  “Fine. Let’s talk about.”

  “You?” Felicia interrupted. “Quelle surprise. You ceased yet another moment to talk about the world that revolves around Attorney Samantha Wells. I guess I need to remind you, I’m not a part of that world.”

  “You may not be, but Jelani certainly is,” I said, and allowed the smile that had been building inside of me to surface.

  I rested the briefcase on the floor, dropped the handbag down my arm and switched it to my right hand. I raised my left hand and placed it on top of the computer, playfully displaying the spectacular ornament. I watched as her eyes became fixed on the ring. I waited for a reaction, but whatever she thought, she held in.

  “Can’t find the words?” I stared at her through wide-open eyes. “Funny, I had the same reaction on Tuesday, but soon I found the only word I needed.” I leaned in and whispered, matching the volume she used earlier, “Don’t you want to know the answer I gave him?”

  “What about my posture says I give a damn? Clearly, I have no interest in you or your story. Better yet, when your story involves the truth, you know where to find me.”

  I flexed my hand and studied my ring with admiration. I was still getting used to seeing the jewel on my finger. I felt like a high school girl who was just given the star quarterback’s letter jacket, or a class ring that belonged to a senior point guard of the champion basketball team, except this wasn’t high school, and that ring I wore belonged to Jelani Graybourne, top lawyer and partner who had just taken himself off the market.

  “You know, Felicia, you’ve been hinting at my truth every chance you get. Do me a favor, why don’t you tell me exactly what is my truth. All you’re doing is grasping at straws, but what you haven’t told me is why.”

  “Ms. Wells,” Felicia said, sounding more formal.

  The clock ticked closer to 8 a.m., and soon everyone else would be walking through the glass doors. Thursdays were usually my longer days, catching up on things I didn’t complete on Mondays, and setting aside things that wouldn’t be getting my attention on Friday, either. Felicia got up, grabbed a black notebook from the desk, and started toward the hall to her left. I followed closely behind her, listening to her recite my itinerary.

  “Don’t forget your bond hearing for Lovell Gainey was rescheduled for this morning at 10:45, and at 3:00 you’re having a late lunch with Mr. Graybourne.”

  “My fiancé, Ms. Hailey. You can say it. I promise you, it won’t burn your tongue,” I mocked, walking behind her. “If it makes you feel any better, we haven’t set a date yet.”

  “My feelings aren’t what you should be worried about,” Felicia spoke without skipping a beat.

  I wish I could say I didn’t mean to gloat, but truth is, I would be lying. I was enjoying every expression on Felicia’s face. I, Samantha Wells-Garrett, had accomplished their impossible dream. Contrary to what my father tried to make me believe, I was nothing like my mother. Those weren’t the exact words he used whenever he came home, reeking of aged whisky and what must’ve been his mistress’s favorite cologne, screaming and yelling at my mother as if she were the one out there opening her legs and giving up her crotch to everyone who thought she smiled pretty. Hell, I wished she had, at least then she wouldn’t have been taking his abuse without reason. If it were up to my father, I would have grown up believing my name was something other than what I answered to today. I was bitch in the morning and whore at n
ight, especially when I came to my mother’s rescue, as she stood defenseless, listening to the virulent words he hawked from his mouth. In between, I was everything else he could think of to chasten me before I was Samantha Madelyn, the name my mother carefully chose before I was even conceived. Everyone was aware of his routine degradation, yet they wondered why I showed no remorse when he lost his will to live. While they shed tears for their “beloved Jeremiah Wells”, I laughed inside, stunned that this man who, in words and stature, exerted such power over my mother and me, had become so pathetic when life challenged him.

  Felicia turned and handed me a printed copy of my agenda.

  “And Mr. Emory Sullivan,” she rolled her eyes and continued her hurried walk toward the office.

  She entered my office, walked over to the desk, and placed a second copy of the agenda on the center of the desk. So my day didn’t look as hectic as I thought it was going to be. Yes, the bond hearing for Lovell Gainey had been pushed back to that morning, giving my team and me more time to provide proper documentation to support my claim that Mr. Gainey suffered from seizers and might have had an episode just before his attempted armed robbery. Parker Chandler had already contacted Dr. Joyce Smothers immediately after this information was revealed, and she was ready to confirm the treatment she provided over the previous two years. If you asked me, seizures or not, Lovell Gainey was just a damned criminal who got caught trying to get his next fix. Fortunately, I could defend his ass and my conscience wouldn’t bother me if he were found innocent or guilty.

  “Do you need anything else, Ms. Wells?” Felicia asked, walking back toward the door.

  “As a matter of fact, there is something else.”

  I sat the briefcase and the bag in the chair and started my approach to Felicia. She appeared more confident than I’d ever seen her. She waited, as I got closer. The exchanges between Felicia and me were becoming habitual.